Relapse
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: Abigail Cobb knew all about her momma’s bad days... Future fic, Rayne implied


**Disclaimer: Just Joss lowly follower, I swear it.**

**A/N: My first Firefly fic. Implied Rayne, told through an OC's PoV. No spoilers. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Abigail Cobb knew all about her momma's bad days.

They were the days when Momma just wasn't herself, when she muttered all manner of things, nursery rhymes and fairy tales and Bible stories all smashed together into sentences so that the words don't sit right on her tongue.

They're the days when Momma went limp like a rag doll and Daddy had to put her to bed, big Poppa Bear hands careful, as though Momma would break into a thousand tiny pieces on the floor if he wasn't careful, coaxing and whispering so that his booming voice became a hissing sound Abby could barely make out through the walls.

On Momma's bad days she would take to the tiniest corners of her and Daddy's bedroom, rocking and twitching, going on about Them—though truth be told Abby hasn't the slightest idea who Them is. Momma just sat and rocked and pulled at her hair as though she could hide behind it (Momma had the most beautiful hair. Daddy always said Abby had her momma's hair).

They were the days when Momma didn't know her, didn't know Amy Jay neither, and she would just panic and pace until Daddy came home and talked to her all gentle-like, taking her little pale hand if Momma would let him, called her 'River' (Daddy never called Momma by her name, always 'baby doll' or 'hummin' bird' but never 'River', with the serious tone and 'R's that rolled too far to follow).

They're the days when Momma took to breaking things, like plates and windows, the fine bone china teapot that Auntie Inara gave Momma way before Abby was ever born.

On those days, Momma didn't recognize her, or Amy Jay all asleep in her cradle, and it was Abby who took care of the house, heated the milk bottles just like Daddy taught her, rocked the crib in just the right way so that Amy Jay would sleep until Daddy came home for dinner. They were the days when Momma would scream right along side Amy J, scream and scream until the insides of her throat were stripped raw and Uncle Simon walked in with his bright red doctor bag—though the bags only seemed to upset Momma more (and that was only when Uncle Simon and Aunt Kaylee were visitin' else it was Daddy who had to hold Momma down and get the needle, and Abby always thought his hands shook seven kinds of bad).

They're the days when Daddy wore his serious face and his eyes were all sad, like they were on _Serenity_, for her birthday, the only one Abby spent onboard. The birthday when Momma was still swollen with Amy Jay, the birthday when Kaylee stepped out with a cake fit with candles and everything. The birthday where Momma began shouting and crying, palms pressed at her temples, big brown eyes looking at her belly while mutterin' how none of it was hers. It's the birthday Momma ran away and Abby had to sit alone inside the mess with the doors locked until at long last Daddy came back and said Momma was sleeping and held her in his strong barrel arms while singing happy birthday even though the candles were all spent.

Momma's bad days were the days when all Abby wanted to do was go back beneath her blankets, the days when she closed her eyes real tight and hoped Momma would be back to normal when she opened them.

They're the days when Abby just wants her Momma, plain and simple, with her brown eyes (brown eyes neither of her of her daughters were born with) sparkling all kinds of shiny. All Abby wanted to see was Momma, in the kitchen of their little house, laughing instead of crying, dancing even as Daddy told her it was too early for dancin'. Abby wanted Momma to teach her to dance, long legs stretching and bending, looking all types of graceful.

Abby wanted her momma to sing to Amy Jay and tease Daddy till he growled at the back of his throat as he chased after her, throwing her over his shoulder when she let him catch her, calling for Abby to help her through a fit of giggles. Abby wanted Momma to brush her hair and braid it with nimble fingers that wouldn't tangle in the threads of black.

Abby knew that on Momma's bad days it was Daddy who tucked her in at night, big hands shaky as they pulled the blankets up tight, before pressin' two good night kisses on her brow, one from Momma and one from him.

They were the days Abby fell asleep praying Momma would be back come morning.

Yes, Abigail Cobb knew all about Momma's bad days.

**End**

**

* * *

**

**Feedback is Love**


End file.
